In one grave, mind. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour.
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